in the era of angsty Avril and melancholic Sarah Mac. fans, i still swoon over love songs with predictable melodies and sating (read: nakakasuka) love-conquers all themes. i get kilig over mushy chick flick lines and romantic novels and have pretended to be the bida in one too many romantic comedies. i chose to join the bandwagon of believers rather than the throng of bitter cynics who see cupid as a little devil, and are disgusted by mush.

not that i haven’t wavered before. i’ve seen hearts get broken and fools settle for far-from-healthy relationships. i’ve even experienced heartbreak myself. and just like the sad love songs put it, it wasn’t fun at all. no happy pill worked, no hospital admitted the dying-from-heartbreak patient, not evenm a gallon of strawberry ice cream helped. after buckets of tears cried over "the one who didn’t seem to notice", "the one who went away" or "the one who took me for granted", i felt like giving up and bidding my love dreams goodbye.

i found out, however, that everytime i get back on my feet and was happily sober, or after each time i mended my heart, or following every improved relationship dynamic, love still promised so much despite, in spite, and precisely bacause of the nitty-gritty details that initially make it unbearable.